BY THIS THING CAUGHT
Is this what is called love,
that for which tears run at it’s end.
it’s more than tears, far beyond kisses
and is found high above.
Perhaps infatuation is it’s name
for it draws and compels as the
moon plays the tide,
yet, it is not the same.
What is this, that few of us ever feel.
It has no title to call it by,
it is a knowing, a state of being
that shows you that life is real.
It is a melding of two by single thought,
requiring no words to convey.
only eyes that meet in silence
to smile at being by this thing caught.